


Permanent Reassignment

by erunamiryene



Series: Codex: Incorrigible Libertines [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Insubordinate Irreverence, More Snark Than You Can Shake a Stick At, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:12:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5075569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erunamiryene/pseuds/erunamiryene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after her disappearance into Wild Space, Linaera is reunited with one of her crew.</p><p>*Contains mild KotFE spoilers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permanent Reassignment

[1]  
Alliance headquarters is never quiet, but Linaera has found that if she keeps her door closed, most of the noise stays on the other side. She curls up on the couch and opens her email, telling herself that she’s going to check for new messages, even though she knows she’s just going to read his letter again. It’s all she’s got right left of him right now, of her life before, and she’s clinging to it ... possibly a little unhealthily.

She wants her crew, she wants the galaxy to go back to normal, and neither of these things are going to happen. Tonight she’s going to take a few minutes to be self-indulgent and self-pitying.

A chime sounds, and the door whispers open, revealing a short, blonde woman holding a datapad. “My lord, pardon the interruption, but if I could have a moment of your time?”

Lin looks over and nods, unfolding her legs and sitting up straight. “Of course, Lana. Come in.”

“Normally,” Lana says, crossing the room with purposeful steps, “I’d let Beywan alert you to any military personnel. Given your,” she stops for a moment, giving Lin a meaningful look, “vested interest in this particular recruit, however, I thought I’d bring this one to you personally.” She proffers the datapad, clearly pleased. 

“Really?” Lin takes it, intrigued. “Let’s see who -” She gasps as a familiar face and biography appear on the screen, nearly dropping the datapad in her shock. Her heart hammers in her chest, and she can’t seem to draw enough air. “You found him!” In an instant, she’s out of her seat and reaching for an already-packed bag she keeps ready for emergencies. “I’m leaving for Dromund Kaas, keep an eye on this place.”

“I already stopped by the landing site; your ship should be prepped by the time you get there. We’ll hold down the fort, and I’ll contact you with anything urgent.” Lana smiles. “Safe travels.”

[2]  
The Citadel is a far cry from the ruin of Taris, Linaera wryly notes as she pilots the speeder toward Imperial Intelligence and the Outreach Bureau. No objectives to conquer, no combat for miles; she can’t picture Pierce here at all. _Major_ Pierce, she reminds herself. Combat or no, he’s clearly been busy since she saw him last.

She hears him before she sees him and she pauses in the doorway of the busy office, listening as he dresses down a nervous lieutenant. It’s the voice of drunken pazaak bets, the running kill count contest, habitual honorifics and genuine pleasure. It’s the voice of the person she’s trusted with her life more than anyone else before or since, and it resonates all the way down in the marrow of her bones as she realizes just how much she’s missed him.

Pierce directs his attention to a datapad when the lieutenant runs off, and doesn't notice when Lin pushes through the cluster of people in front of him, coming to a stop when they're less than two steps apart. She folds her arms, expression as stern as she can make it given that she’s nearly bursting with excitement. “I see you’ve gone soft in my absence, Major,” she snaps, tone harsh, and the conversations around them die out. “Look at you. Spotless dress uniform, cushy post, a desk job. I thought you were a warfighter.”

His eyes are wide as his head snaps up, her name a ragged whisper before he can stop himself. “Linaera?” It’s all he can do to not stagger against the wall, seeing her standing in front of him. 

She raises an eyebrow. “Well, who were you expecting, Major? Vitiate?”

There’s a brief moment of quiet as they regard each other, and then he scowls. “You son of an inbred, three-legged nerf!” He glares harder as his fingers wrap around her wrist. “You’re gone for years with no word, and think you can just stroll in here and lecture me?” A sharp yank, and she’s stumbling the short distance toward him. “I ought to pummel you into next week!” She’s already halfway into a combat stance when his mouth finds hers, as easily as if he’d kissed her that morning, and it takes a moment for her brain to register what he’s doing, a moment for her to relax against him, and then it’s as if she’d never left, the time between them melting away.

She pulls back, grinning and breathless. “That is no proper way to greet the Empire’s Wrath,” she says, trying to sound serious. “Don’t you care about proper customs and courtesies?”

“My lord,” and she shivers when he says it, just as she has since the day she met him, “I don’t give a skar’kla’s ass about any of that, and you know it. Have my dreams come true, or are you finally here to put me out of my misery?”

“I suppose that depends. Do your dreams include fighting at my side again?” 

"Among other things," he says, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. 

She looks him up and down, quite deliberately. “Let’s get you out of that monkey suit and into combat armor.”

He doesn’t miss the heat blazing in her eyes. “Just need to stop by my apartment and grab my gear.”

[3]  
The apartment door slides closed behind them, and Lin shoves her hood back, sighing. Pierce turns, pauses, his eyes on Lin until she fidgets under the scrutiny, more terse than she intends when she speaks. “What?”

“Wasn’t expecting that hair,” he says, scrutinizing her as his hands move swiftly across her armor, divesting her of all but her tank top, greaves and boots. “Cybernetics are different, too. The hair, though.” He pulls it out of the severe bun, watching it fall down her back. “That’ll take getting used to.”

Glowering, she shakes her head, sending waves through the auburn locks. “No, you will _not_ be getting used to it. You’re going to help me cut it off. It’s been driving me to distraction.”

He nods, his mind clearly elsewhere. “Five years,” he murmurs, taking a step toward her. One arm wraps around her waist, hand warm on the small of her back as he pulls her closer. “Five years thinking you were gone, kicking myself for not ignoring your orders, for not coming with you. Thinking that the one time I didn’t have your back, you died. Or at least, that’s what the reports said.” A pause, and a note of pride in his voice. “Knew those were a load of bantha shit, though.”

She bites her lip; she hadn’t thought about the huge gap in their perception of how much time had passed, and now she's just stormed back into his life expecting him to drop everything and take off with her. “Pierce, I didn't really think about how much longer it's been for you. If you can't -"

“I know it hasn’t been that long for you.” She’d told him about the carbonite freezing on the way to his apartment. “Hasn’t felt like it, anyway, but you must have sustained some kind of head trauma if you think I'm not coming with you. Stampeding guids couldn't keep me away. I'm just not entirely convinced that you aren't a vivid hallucination.”

“If I’m a hallucination, you must be, too, though I can think of worse hallucinations than my best friend.” She wags her eyebrows at him, suddenly mischievous. “But I bet I can think of at least five ways to convince you that I’m quite real.”

Laughter explodes out of him. "Only five? You're slipping." He takes a step backward. “What sort of timetable are we on? Let me get my gear packed, and we can go.”

“It’s not that urgent,” she says. “I hadn’t been planning on leaving until at least tomorrow, and you haven't shown me around your apartment." She scowls. "And seriously, this hair has to go.”

He cups her ass and lifts her up, grinning when she wraps her legs around his waist. “As you command, my lord.” She Force-lifts her travel bag into her hand as he carries her down the hall and through the bedroom, setting her down in a spartan but well-lit fresher.

As he’s rummaging through the drawer, pulling out clippers and a razor, she investigates his countertop, amused when she realizes nothing has changed, that everything is set up just like it was on the Fury.

“All right, you ready?” He shoves the makeshift rug, a ragged towel, aside with his foot. “Better be sure.”

“Get this shit off my head, Pierce.”

Quick, careful sweeps across her head, and piles of auburn fall to the floor. The close shave takes a few minutes longer but soon a bare-headed Linaera is grinning at her reflection. “Oh, that is so much better!” She crosses to the small shower and turns on the water. “Let me rinse off this excess hair or I’ll be itchy all night.”

His mouth goes dry as she strips out of the rest of her clothes and armor, swift and efficient, then pulls a small bottle out of her bag and steps into the shower. The room briefly fills with the scent of her soap - woodsy and bold, a scent he’d all but forgotten - and in two minutes she’s stepping out, pulling a towel out of a nearby cabinet and wrapping it around herself.

It only highlights her figure, the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips, and his voice is strangled when he finally speaks. “My lord, I’m gonna drop dead from blood loss to the brain here in a minute.”

“Then we better take care of that,” she says lightly, dropping the towel. “I thought you were going to get in the shower with me. You’re losing your edge, Major.”

“Oh, am I?” In three steps he’s to her, backing her into the wall, his mouth warm on hers. He finds he’s possessed of a burning need to hear something very specific. “Say my name. Not my rank.” He still remembers her favorite ways to be touched, remembers the places that will draw out shudders and gasps. His hands skim along her ribs and cup her breasts, thumbs dragging across raised nipples as he bends to kiss the delicate skin behind her ear. 

She moans, leaning into his hands, running her fingers through his short-cropped hair. “Pierce." She pulls his shirt off in one quick motion, rakes her nails down his chest, makes short work of his belt and trousers. "Oh stars, Pierce, I’ve missed you.”

It’s positively gushing for her and he loves it, answering just as she expects. “You’ve gone soft, my lord,” he murmurs against her neck as he picks her up. “Disgraceful.” He carries her into the bedroom and they fall in an inelegant heap on top of the blanket. “But I’ll keep your secret.”

“Will you now?” She grins at him, eyes bright, acutely aware of how she's aching for him. “Why’s that?”

He shoves her legs apart, unable to bite back a groan as he enters her. “Becau- oh, _fuck_.” He hasn't been a hermit for these last five years, but none of the drunken one night stands felt like this, either. He and Lin, they understand each other. They simply _work_ : on and off the field, they're a peerless, unrivaled partnership. "Missed you too, you know."

She laughs outright, pulls him down to her for a hard kiss. “Disgraceful," she says, echoing him. "Shut up and fuck me, Pierce.”

“Gladly, my lord.”

[4]  
She is languid, newly shorn head gleaming, sprawled and half-dozing atop the luxurious white comforter. It’s almost as if no time has passed, he thinks, as he traces unfamiliar scars on her skin. He used to know all of them, the story behind every pale stripe, and he'll learn the new as well. 

He runs a fingertip around the worst of them, a circle with feathery edges on her stomach. “And this one?”

She doesn’t open her eyes, luxuriating in each light touch, the sensation both new and familiar in equal measure. “Arcann impaled me,” she murmurs. “It's a matching set with the one on my back. Wouldn’t have made it except for kolto packs and a very lucky appearance by a friend.” 

“See what happens when you go fucking around alone and make me stay behind?” He clucks his tongue. 

Her brows draw together, though she still doesn’t open her eyes. “Excuse you, but I am more than capable of taking care of myself.” 

“I know.” He presses a kiss to the raised skin, smiling when her breath catches. “Just jealous I missed the scrap, that’s all. Looks like someone needed their ass kicked.”

She opens her eyes, watches him, waits until he’s comfortably stretched out beside her. Her fingers curl toward her palm as she fights the urge to touch him, half sure she’ll blink and he’ll disappear. “Rules haven’t changed just because I’ve been gone, Major. No spending the night in my bed.”

A wide, slow grin spreads across his face, and he makes no move to get up. “With all due respect, my lord ... it isn’t yours. It’s mine.” He pauses, and amusement creeps into his voice. “My couch is very comfortable, though.”

She boosts herself up onto her elbows and raises an eyebrow. “Are you throwing me out of your bed?”

“Maybe. I do owe you for all the times you threw me out of yours.”

Sitting up, she swings her legs off the bed and heads for the door, secretly pleased when he doesn’t take his eyes off of her. “Fair enough,” she says. “I’ll pay my dues.”

He lets her get the door open before he speaks up. “Lin, get your ass back here. You know damn good and well I didn’t mean it.”

She laughs, and he revels in it, still somewhat disbelieving that she’s actually standing in front of him. “I know you didn’t. I was going to grab us a couple of beers. You do have beer in your fridge, right?”

He rolls out of bed and extracts a pair of black PT shorts and a matching t-shirt, emblazoned with a red Imperial logo, from a drawer. Tossing her the shirt, he steps into the shorts. “I have beer and a pazaak table. Up for a game?”

She pulls the shirt over her head, preening a little when she sees he’s looking at her. “I’ve been waiting for that invitation for over five years.” She thinks for a moment. “Actually … I’m starving. Get dressed.” She disappears into the fresher for a moment, returning in black pants and army-issue boots, laughing when she realizes he’s changed into the same thing. “We can’t go out dressed alike.” Rummaging through his drawer, she pulls out a red shirt. “Ooh, you still have this one. Wear this one!”

He tries, and fails, to look disapproving. “You know that one is a size too small.”

She gives him a thoroughly lecherous look. “Why do you think I like it?” She tosses it to him. “If you want me to wear your shirt, you have to wear this shirt.” He takes it, grumbling, and she mentally runs through a list of places to eat. “Is that diner we used to frequent still open? The all-night one?”

He nods. “The usual? Pancakes, then pazaak?”

“Nothing could sound better.” She loops her arm around his. “Let’s go.”


End file.
